The Meaning of Strength
by Aria E. Seymour
Summary: Potential Season 1-6 spoilers of Downton Abbey. Read at own expense. This next place in 1941, 15 years after Anna and Bates have their son. It's my first story of after Downton and I hope you like these characters, because I will be using them frequently.
A few months back, my little sisters, Mary and Cora, and my brother, Charlie, were headed to town with my father. Due to mishandling of money, my father lost almost every shilling we had. Luckily, there was this man in town that my father had some information on. Vera, my father's first wife, threatened to blackmail him many years before for money. My father told me he was a dangerous man, but we needed the money. He had Charlie and I stand outside the house with Mary and Cora in case things went south. I peeked through a window and saw my father shove the man against a wall. The man looked slightly frightened, but not as terrified as most people are when my father threatens them. Placing his hat on his head, my father strolled out of the cottage and the four of us carried on.

A week and a half later, my father received a thousand pounds in the mail. Smirking, he put the money in the envelope in his desk drawer. Nothing more came of it until about three months ago.

My family headed up to London for a weekend. My mother needed to pick up some new clothes for Charlie, Mary, and Cora along with some other errands. As most six year olds do, Cora was going through somewhat of a princess phase. A pink fluffy dress in the window of a store called "Fairytale" caught her eye. Naturally, Mary wanted to see it as well. My mother allowed them to go in and try it on. My father, Charlie, and I waited outside. Across the street, I noticed a man who seemed to be looking intently at my father. The man appeared familiar. I noticed him fiddling with his belt. Then I recognized the man. It was the man my father had visited for money and he had that same look of nervous courage he did five months ago.

My father was buying a newspaper and Charlie was attempting to read a map of London he brought with us. Within a few blinks, my father had been shot in the stomach and collapsed to the ground. The man across the street quickly shoved his gun into his belt and scurried off down a narrow alleyway. Squealing, my mother shrieked in horror through the store window. Rapidly, she darted through the door and crumbled by the body of her husband.

"John! John! Stay with me please!" my mother begged.

"Anna, I love you and the kids. I love you however, whatever, whenever. Remember that in case," my father uttered breathily.

"No, John. Please. Please!"

Latching on to my father's shirt, my mother sobbed ceaselessly into his chest. Ambulance arrived and pried him away from my mother's grip.

Eight year old Mary cautiously left the store. Cora followed behind her.

"Where are they taking father?" Mary worriedly asked.

"To the hospital," Charlie answered.

"Will we ever see him again?" Cora inquired.

"I don't know. I really don't know," my mother blubbered.

She wrapped her left arm around Charlie and I and the other around the girls.

"We'll get through it together mum," I promised hugging her.

"Thank you, John Junior. I can always count on you JJ."

My father never came home that week. Or the week after. Or the week after that. Ever since that day, my mother has been depressed, but slowly recovering. Starring, my mother sits in his big raspberry red chair and carefully traces her fingers over his picture. Trickling down her cheek, a tear lands on the photograph. My mother says that it was a wrong place wrong time situation, but she does not know the truth. She doesn't know that my father died over money. Money he wanted to use to make her more comfortable. I don't think I will ever tell my mother the truth of my father's death. It will break her heart even more to discover that he risked his life just to keep our home and our things. She would have gladly lived in poverty with my father than live in luxury without him.

The important thing is that someone knows the truth about his death. Everyday I look at our walls, clothes, food, toys, books, and I think "If it wasn't for father's courage of risking his life, none of this would be here". Right now things might be a little depressed around her, but one day, my mother will heal, because if my father taught my mother anything, it's the definition of strength.


End file.
